Inherit The Wind
by Alicorn
Summary: What would you do to be normal? What would you sacrifice to take back yourself? Gnomey AU,Mojo/Moko, RRB/PPG friendship. Short style, fixed and updated.
1. Rose

_Author's note: This story came from the idea of mixing a more realistic 'without powers' story with a RRB/PPG friendship and the return of Moko Jono, all while the girls are still six years old, and all brought together with this question: "What if Gnomey had been true to his word?" I hope you enjoy it :). I am trying a new writing exercise by establishing each pov of the story in a single page each.  
_

**Inherit The Wind**

* * *

I.

The walls were a tight blackness fashioned into an airtight coffin.

Somehow...somehow there was breathing, kept alive with the heavy scent of wet earth.

Air came from a pin drop of a hole, worn white with delicate claw marks criss-crossed in a silent record of a month's worth of tireless diligence.

An unspoken power fed upon itself in white hot rage, hanging thick in colorless waves like the heat off a sidewalk on a summer's day.

Waiting. Planning. Cursing.

Within a small pot, a mud brown concoction bubbled, a dim red flame to its side flickering to the pulse of a deep heartbeat.

A single claw, twice as thick as a grown man's arm ,slipped from it's dark blanket, opening with a slow, unshaken certainly.

"My boooys..."

The mixture of slime, hair, and blood, still warm from life, made its slow, oozing descent.

**"...wake up now..."**

Blood atop the liquid pooled like oil, growing bubbles that roared into a full boil, filling half of the enclosure with a eerie green light.

_**"....Daddy has a present for you...."**_

The boiling erupted up into a miniature geyser from the pot in a flash of light, casting the silhouette of a tiny figure wearing a sparkling pointed hat into sharp, looming relief against a far wall of the tiny tomb.

" And just what would that be, my old friend?" A deep voice asked.

Him gashed his gleaming white fangs toward the blackness in reply, glowing yellow eyes lengthening to bitter slits...

* * *


	2. Rose II

II.

Everything was the rose, and the rose was everything.

Even with a quick, unfocused animal like sense of the past she could feel that it had been a long time.

Too long, since there had been anything but a clear blue sky...since the days when the air smelled of anything loathsome or familiar.

It was a worrying thing, this sweet scented air that blocked the markings around the family cage, and the smell of the claiming pungent leaves of the Monkey Island canopy that she had known her entire ten years of life...

But even worst, even more unforgivable, was the one person the rose had taken from her...

"Mother will come back..I make Mother come..." She whispered to herself.

A crowd of children visiting the zoo jumped back from the sudden ear splitting cries of a something that sounded like it had just had its tail caught in a pencil sharpener, edging away from the spot where the smallest of the chimpanzees sat huddled in a corner.

Michelle stole a quick glance to the side before returning to work, both hands and a foot staining in the effort of tying and twisting with the full strength of two normal human beings.

"Done!" She shrieked at last, holding up her masterpiece to glint in the sun. "Done!"

The long length of wire, fashioned from twisted bits of the metal mesh around the inside of the habitat, and ending with a long hooked point, gathered a sudden rush of neighboring spider monkey admirers.

Michelle only nodded with a smug smile, starting her long wire on its journey past the solid steel bars.

She had forgotten who exciting the sound of the tumblers in a lock, most of all an outdated one, could be.

The glorified padlock gave a last click, clattering to the lust green ground.

Freedom.

Her two dark black eyes squinted under the sudden bright sunlight of midday as a sea of monkeys spilled out among the citizens of the Townsville Zoo, many screams drowning out her own.

"Don't worry Mother...Moko Jono make it well again!"

On page G7 of the Townville Bee the sad news story of the escape of beloved piano playing chimpanzee Michelle... and the odd theft of a monkey size costume...sat almost cheerfully upon the Mayor's recipe for pickled meatloaf.


	3. Sand

**III.

* * *

**

Eyes closed tight with a heated effort against the sand.

There was always the sand, mocking. Coaxing. Promising.

The need to sleep had long ago been replaced with a dim weighted fire, somewhere between his head and his bare feet.

He recalled a time when the fur there was neat, glossy black over green toes, a tiny bit of pride.

Where was pride now?

Surely, it did not come from the bloody collection of blisters that had once been called toes.

Or his fur, now nothing but a shadow of grey with the sand and sun.

No, no, his pride was not a shallow thing anymore, that had gone along with his title a weeks' journey ago.

The colors that had been some silent marker against any who dared mock a clothed chimpanzee, the blues and purples he'd somewhere secretly held so dear...

They were gone.

White.

His tattered cape, a crowning turban without any bobbles.

White and simple, without any of the dyes marking royalty.

What use was a title now?

Yes, yes, if anything would be done, it would be done by Jojo.

The weight in his body swam for the smallest of moments up toward his head, stopping in its route to make the traveler gag.

Realization tasted of a thin trail of vomit and a cleansing splash of wasted water rations.

So it had come to this.

Asking this of..them.

Them of all the people, of all the creatures!

His brilliant mind, his great plans, all worthless now, maybe forever …

No, no, not forever.

The small figures' pacing mind added new vigor to his heavy legs, driving them onward, ever onward...

Toward a faint rose perfume...toward...Townsville..yes..toward...


End file.
